


On London's street

by TheTomBoy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Declarations Of Love, Devastated John Watson, Friendship/Love, Hurt John Watson, Idiots in Love, M/M, One Shot, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 06:17:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15768321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTomBoy/pseuds/TheTomBoy
Summary: Sherlock gets shot during a chase, and John tries desperately to keep him alive until the ambulance gets there. Sometimes 8 minutes could feel like forever.Character death.





	On London's street

**Author's Note:**

> All criticism is welcomed! I am trying to improve after all ^^

John did not know when Sherlock disappeared from his sight. One second he was there, the next he was gone. His long legs carried him faster than Jon’s short, and he was soon far in front of him. Still John ran the fastest he could through the crowds of London’s street, following him, heart beating hard in his chest. Soon a gun shot echoed through between the walls of London, making John’s heart miss a beat. He prayed that Sherlock was unhurt, or the one that pulled the trigger. Soon he could see a body through the people starting to gather around, and his heart sank fast. That coat.

”Let me through, no he’s my friend.” He pleaded and pushed himself between the crowd to fall to his knees beside the body.

”John.” Sherlock panted, eyes squeezed shut in pain. ”He got away..ran..down that alley..”

”Shush.” John breathed and started to open up his coat, trying to locate the wound. He heard how someone yelled for someone to call an ambulance, but it quickly drowned out with the sounds of frantic voices and cries. He both saw and felt Sherlock’s chest shudder violently under his touch as he pushed the coat away, revealing a big stain, spreading quickly. He cursed under his breath and shrugged his jacket off to press against the wound, while looking up at Sherlock’s face. He was pale, and with every exhale followed a pained grunt. The pain must be unbearable. He was shot in the abdomen, which John deep down knew was really, really bad. 

”Stay with me Sherlock.” He pleaded and gently slapped his cheek. Sherlock’s eyes opened quickly, looked around in confusion for a bit, before settling on John. They were a bit unfocused, almost as if in a dream state. John felt a stab of pain in his heart at the pain clear in the blue eyes he loved so much. ”The ambulance is on the way.” He said, trying to convince himself Sherlock could pull through. Sure a shot to the stomach was very life threatening, but Sherlock could survive it right? He always survived. He jumped off a building and survived. He was indestructible, even if John never knew how he did it. He was indestructible. 

Sherlock coughed, staining his lips with drops of crimson blood. John forgot how to breathe in that moment, everything moved in a blur. Focus, the military doctor in him shouted. Focus, and keep him alive. He looked down at the jacket again, which now was almost soaked in blood. The sight made John sick to his stomach, along with the puddle which was forming around Sherlock way too quickly.

”Jh..n” 

He looked up at Sherlock, who was looking down at him, head tilted to the side. He wheezed, as if trying to gather enough strength to speak. Slowly he twitched his fingers, and John saw it. He grabbed Sherlock’s hand tightly with the one that weren't holding the jacket, squeezing it.

”It doesn't hurt anymore..” Sherlock mumbled, voice weak. John felt all colour drain from his face, and he grew cold. Shock was setting in.

”Stay with me Sherlock. Sherlock.” John repeated as Sherlock’s eyes began to close, and they opened again. They weren't as pained now, but wide and frightened.

”I..don’t..wanna..die..” He said with surprising strength, before all of it seemed to drain from him. His eyes drooped, and John slapped his cheek again. John had never seen Sherlock so weak, so vulnerable. And he never wanted to again.

”Stay with me.” He breathed, feeling tears start to fill his eyes. ”The ambulance is here soon.”

”I need to…say..something.” Sherlock breathed heavily and looked at John as the shock was starting to wear off, making the pain come back. John stared back, starting to feel a sudden light-headedness from lack of oxygen. He suddenly forgot how to breathe.

”Tell Lastrade..Mrs Hudson..” Sherlock started, but started to cough. Now blood strained his whole neck and jaw, dripping down his cheeks as well. Every breath took enormous effort, but John refused to give up.

”Mycroft..”

”No save your strength. You can tell them yourself.” John said sternly, but Sherlock looked near panic. 

”No.” He grunted, before squeezing his eyes shut. His body began to convulse, and tears streamed down his cheeks. He heard a distant call of his name, but it seemed so far away. John leaned over him, nausea filling him to the brim.

”No..No…” He pleaded and prepared to slap Sherlock’s cheek, when a hand firmly grabbed his neck. Sherlock’s eyes opened, and stared into John’s with such fire and passion. His last strength.

”I love you…all…” He added the last bit with a soft smile, before he clenched his jaw.

Sherlock continued to stare at John, as if it were the last time. Taking in his facial features, his hair, his eyes. Which were now filled with tears, he realised. It took enormous effort, but Sherlock managed to raise his hand to tenderly wipe the tear from John’s cheek, before it fell to the ground limply. 

John just stared as Sherlock’s eyes suddenly went unfocused, and his clenched jaw relaxed. He heard the grounding sound of Sherlock’s hand hitting the ground, as if slow motion, and the hand he held went limp. Sherlock’s head tilted to the side as a final breath escaped his mouth. John shook his head, tears now streaming down his face. 

”No..no,no..” He whispered to himself and leaned over Sherlock, stroking his curls.   
”Hang on..Sherlock..the ambulance..The ambulance..” He repeated as a mantra, eyes shut and forehead pressed to Sherlock’s shoulder. He looked down to see Sherlock’s eyes stare up at the sky, all light drained from them. Sobs started to wrack his body, hurting his lungs as they tore up his throat. He didn't realise it, but soon he just screamed, before his body slumped against Sherlock’s. He gripped at his coat, trying to ground himself, maybe to convince himself Sherlock was still alive inside of it.

He could hear the sirens in the background, and gasped Sherlock’s hand again. ”See? They’re coming.” He said, voice light. ”You’ll be alright..”

”John!” He heard a familiar voice, and soon footsteps coming closer. A warm hand landed on his shoulder, bringing him out of his little bubble. Lestrade looked down at him, eyes wide and concerned, tears in them. ”Come on mate.” He said after swallowing hard.

”No, he needs me!” John said and looked over at Sherlock’s face. The blue irised still stared up at the sky, dark and empty. ”Yes, you’re gonna be okay.” He mumbled to himself, somehow not understanding that Sherlock was dead. 

”Let them take him.” Lestade said softly in concern as the ambulance personal approached with the bunk. John nodded and kissed Sherlock’s cold hand before he rose on shaking legs, Lestrade’s arm around his back helping a lot. He knew the doctors could save his friend. The men checked Sherlock’s pulse, before looking at each other. One of them shook their head. Then, realisation hit John like a ton of bricks. When they heaved Sherlock’s body into the bag and zipped it shut, he crumbled. If it wasn't for Lestrade he would've fallen to the ground. 

”NO, HE’S ALIVE!” John shouted, hysterical. ”PLEASE, HE’S ALIVE!”

Lestrade tried to bring him into a hug, but John broke away from the embrace. He approached the flashing lights, blinking against them. ”He’s not dead.” He repeated now in one last, desperate plea. 

”Look.” One of the men said and grabbed his shoulders, looking concerned. ”We will get you a shock blanket.” He said and waved at someone, and soon a soft, cheap blanket was placed on his shoulders. Unconsciously John grabbed it, and sank to the ground. He held himself, and finally let himself cry. He cried and screamed, not caring that the whole crowd, ambulance personal and Lestrade saw him. The only thought in his mind was Sherlock, and that he was laying in a body bag, dead and cold. When John returned to their flat he would not be met with a pacing man, bored out of his mind. He would be met with silence, and all surfaces stacked with old experiments, and body parts. Sherlock’s microscope he handled so carefully, and his jars of substances John never dared to ask what it was. Sherlock’s violin would lay in it’s case, forgotten. Then he realised. 

He couldn't return.


End file.
